Mos Def

Before I realized that, Mos Def had me totally suckered. Without hesitation he stormed the stage and hijacked the crowd with "Close Edge" from The New Danger. Def's young, urban professor charisma and relaxed celebrity sheen dazzled the nearly sold-out room as much his brassy vocals and liquid rhymes. Camo netting hung across the keys and decks, and Minnesota, Def's hype man, wore a dark Dickies jumpsuit and a bandana, bandit-style, under his fedora. Hip-hop commandos making "roots culture ghetto gangster magic," they were all too cool and all too real. Literally.

The illusion held as long as he improvised. Def laid his own vocals over the mouth percussion from "Drop It Like It's Hot", tagged "Passing Me By", a cappella, to the end of "Ms. Fat Booty". He kept the crowd involved, observant, demonstrating that hip-hop's instant malleability is its greatest asset. A spoken word intro led into a new song that showed Def's new dangerous side: "You are the one, you're the one" he sang tenderly, then angrily he exploded, "Fuck you!" The self-proclaimed "most beautiful boogieman," Def embodied hip-hop's evolving contradictions.

As the energy waned an hour into the set, a bitter realization had me vexed. The Mighty Mos Def-- the same rapper who had just insisted, "What I spit and I write is real, cuz my life is real"-- was rapping over aluminum, not vinyl. His albums pulsate with intense vocal/instrumental sparring and music made by actual humans. But on stage, his keys player went unused, Minnesota danced mutely by his side, and his DJ was synching tracks by pressing a button.

Six years ago, Mos Def was poised to change the face of hip-hop. After two solo albums and a few movies, he's showboating to a CD track. Without any interplay between MC and DJ, Def couldn't sustain interest. Attention drifted, and by the time the luscious opening melody of "Umi Says" blew in, the crowd needed a jolt. Predictably, thankfully, the singalong that ensued was warm and wholehearted, and Def left the stage to a chant of "We want Mos!"

The Mos that returned was the one the audience demanded. A machine-gun freestyle led into a raucous dub-breakbeat mash-up, as Def yelled out, "Big up to the Clash!" and danced to a frantic "Spanish Bombs". Mos Def usually boils with that kind of fearless passion, but these days it seems as if it's in too short supply.